


I've Been Hit!

by Slow_Burn_Sally



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Accidental Love Confessions, But They're From A Paint Gun So No Worries, M/M, Minor Mentions Of Blood And Wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25514863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slow_Burn_Sally/pseuds/Slow_Burn_Sally
Summary: I wrote this from a cute cartoon on tumblr which I cannot find an original link to, in which Crowley thinks he's actually been shot and is dying and therefore confesses his love for Aziraphale. Only to realize belatedly that it's just paint.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 108





	I've Been Hit!

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [#davidtennant ineffable_everything](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/655504) by #davidtennant ineffable_everything. 



They’d barely made it through the stone arch over the entrance way to the Tadfield hospital when Crowley felt a sudden, sharp stinging sensation and his shoulder jerked backwards. He’d been _shot_! Some bugger had shot him! 

He staggered, hand to his chest and felt a wetness there. Bringing his fingers up to his face to investigate, he saw red. Blood. He _had_ been shot! Oh no! Not now! Not when they were just honing in on where to find the Antichrist! Not when he and Aziraphale had such a good understanding going on. He wanted to live!

Crowley fell to the ground, clutching at his chest. “Angel,” he gasped. “I’ve been hit!”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale’s voice sounded far too calm and collected for the tragic nature of their current situation. Crowley was now going to have to head back Downstairs and fill out scads of paperwork and wait possibly years to come back up. If there even was an Upstairs to come back to. They didn’t have _years_! They had to solve this issue with the Antichrist now and stop Armageddon!

“I sense the light fading!” Crowley wailed, perhaps not realizing that this fact was due to him flinging a rather dramatic arm over his face. 

“Crowley, it’s just paint,” Aziraphale was frustratingly calm. And he clearly thought Crowley’s blood, the blood currently seeping slowly from Crowley’s gaping chest wound, was just paint. Silly angel. Silly, beautiful, angel. Dear Satan how Crowley was going to miss him. His one companion. His true love. He felt himself growing weaker, the light around him growing dimmer. 

“Tell my husband I love him,” he whispered, preparing himself for the death of his human corporation. At least now, at the bitter end, he could confess his true feelings for Aziraphale. 

“Wait, your _what_?” Aziraphale’s voice was suddenly rather more serious and attentive than it had been moments ago. “Crowley?” Crowley felt a shadow fall across his face and dared to move his arm and squint blearily up into a pair of surprised blue eyes. “What was that you just said Crowley?” 

Crowley realized belatedly that he was not in pain. He brought his hand up to the wet spot on his shoulder, expecting to find a bullet hole and found nothing but smooth skin and a smattering of chest hair under his black shirt. Just his usual old chest. No bullet hole. He brought his hand up to his face again and smelled it. 

It smelled like paint. 

“S’just paint” he said.

“Yes my dear. It’s just paint. They got me as well, in the back. Ruined a perfectly good coat.” Aziraphale’s tone was the one he usually used when telling Crowley he’d slept too long or that he couldn’t drive 90 miles an hour in central London. The tone that said ‘I can’t believe I’ve been forced to deal with this disaster of a demon for six thousand years’. “Now, about what you just said a moment ago…” The blue eyes looking down at him grew sharply curious for a moment. 

Crowley cleared his throat. “Nothing angel. I didn’t say anything.” He hauled himself to his feet and brushed himself off. “Erm, turn around, I’ll get that paint off your coat. Can’t go talk to the nuns covered in paint now can we?”

“But you said-”

“Never mind what I said. Let’s go angel. We’ve got stuff to do. Armageddons to stop.” Crowley banished the paint from both of them with a quick demonic spell and sauntered away toward the entrance to Tadfield hospital, leaving a very confused and frustrated angel in his wake.


End file.
